The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (14 page)

Salve heard a knife being drawn from its sheath.

“You hear? You know?”

“I understand!” the voice cried. “I’ll tell him. Don’t
worry.”

Rathead’s fist smashed into the lid of the trashcan. Salve
squeaked and squeezed his eyes tighter.

“You go!” Rathead commanded.

Feet splashed rapidly away from the trashcan.

“He
gone,
” Rathead said. “You come
out.”

Salve froze.

“Nice work,” the first woman said, her voice seeming to come
out of nowhere. “She won’t be blabbing to anyone but Jameson anytime soon.”

“We go,” Rathead said. “Much work to do now.”

Their footsteps retreated down the street.

Salve opened his eyes. He peered through the crack between
the trashcan and wall and sighed with relief. He could only see their backs,
barely visible through the rain, receding into the dark night.

He stood slowly and looked around. The street appeared to be
empty.

“I think I’ll stick to safe news stories,” he muttered to
himself, walking hastily towards his apartment. “If I don’t, I might find
myself upside down and rather uncomfortable inside a trashcan.
Or worse, dead.”

As he walked, the rain stayed steady, a solid roar in the
tenuous night.

Salve climbed the stairs to his apartment and slowly
unlocked the door. He dried himself off, put on his rubber ducky pajamas, and
prepared a cup of hot chocolate.

“What were they talking about?” he muttered to himself.
“A monkey?
He found it? Was it hiding? Where’d he find it?
A zoo?”

He sat down in his living room chair and put his feet up on
the ottoman. The cup of tea rested on the arm of the chair; a wisp of steam
rose of the top.

“Maybe it has to do with that clock legend. Maybe there’s a
monkey in the legend. I should ask Auvek about that.”

Salve blew on the tea and then tasted it: it was hot, but
not too hot. He gulped down the entire cup.

“I wonder how that Zebigular guy fits in. He went on and on
about this clock thing when I interviewed him. He seemed scared. Maybe Rathead
is threatening him.”

Salve stood and rinsed out his mug. “I can’t believe I’m
talking to myself. Maybe I should go ask for my job back.”

“No!” he exclaimed. “You walked out and for good reason!
Don’t get all wimpy on me!”

He meandered towards his bedroom, pausing to gaze out the
window at the dark sky.

“Monkey…” he murmured.

Someone knocked on the door.

He spun around. “Monkey… monkey… Simon!
Oh
no!”

The knock turned into a pound. Someone was giving their fist
a workout. In fact, someone was giving Salve’s door a workout.

“My briefcase,” he muttered. “Need my briefcase.”

“Back door.
Use the back door.”

He shoved his feet into his shoes, yelled at the door, “Be
right there!” and took off through the back door into the rain.

“Gotta find Auvek,” he whispered, and sprinted down the
street.

*****

Elon Canderick had a very nice box. It was large, lined with
plastic, and filled with feather blankets. He had even managed to acquire a
spot that sat back from the tunnel opening, just out of the reach of the rain
and snow. The grey cement walls rose up in an arc from the ground, riddled with
wrappers and the leftovers of civilization. The small man wrapped in the
blankets looked terrified.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Leave me alone. Can’t a man live
in his box in peace?”

“Mr. Canderick, sir,” John said. “We need to talk to you.
And we have a safer place for you to stay.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” Mr. Canderick
answered quickly. “Who is he? I’m somebody else. Not him.”

“Well, you’re homeless,” John said. “I don’t suppose you
would say no to a hot meal? Come on.”

Quin reached down and lifted Mr. Canderick bodily from his
box. He dragged him back towards their taxi.

“We’re not going to kill you, Senator. We’re trying to
prevent you from being killed,” John said. “You had better come. We have reason
to believe Rathead knows where you are.”

Mr. Canderick stood up and began to walk rapidly. “Where is
he? Where? I have to get out of here.”

Quin opened the car door and Mr. Canderick climbed in.

“To the drugstore,” Quin said to the driver.

A few minutes later the car screeched to a halt. Quin helped
Mr. Canderick into the street. The drug store was a cheap affair with the word
“SHOP” in neon lights over the door. Only the ‘S’ and the ‘O’ seemed to work
properly; the ‘H’ flickered on and off and the ‘P’ had burnt out completely.
Boxes of cigarettes were stacked against the window and an elderly gentleman puttered
about behind the counter. The glass in the front had a long crack, which was
covered with a thick tape. Cracked and chipped paint that described the items
for sale also adorned the window. A row of bars stood, presumably to protect
the glass, but two had been snapped off at their bases and hung loose. Mr.
Canderick looked up at the flickering sign, and cowered in front of the door in
the drenching rain.

“You think I’m going in there?” he demanded. “This is a
trap! You are going to kill me, I know it!”

The glass door clanged open as Pete stepped into the rain.
“Mr. Canderick, everything is going to be okay.”

“You... you fixed my clock!” he exclaimed, suddenly
recognizing Pete.
“Every year without fail.”

“Yes, Mr. Canderick. I own Pete’s Clocks on Main Street.
We’re not going to hurt you. Please, just come inside.”

Mr. Canderick hesitated a moment longer, and then stepped
slowly forward. The next moment, Quin leaped forward and threw Mr. Canderick to
the ground as the echoing sound of a gun singed their ears. John sprinted
towards the small shop as Quin rolled off the elderly gentleman, picked him up,
and carried him inside.

The old man at the counter ignored them, dusting a shelf
with a bunch of feathers tied to a stick.

“Run, run!”
Pete said, ushering
them into the back room. “The tunnel entrance is hidden in the ice room.”

John sprinted towards the ice room and Quin set Mr.
Canderick down, dragging him closely behind. Mr. Canderick elbowed his way in
front of Quin.

“They’re killing me!” he cried, staring fearfully behind
him. His view of outside was blocked by Quin’s massive chest.

“Nope.”
John glanced over his
shoulder at Mr. Canderick, pulling open the ice room door. “Looks like you’re
still alive to me.”

“Where is it? Where is it?
The tunnel?”
Mr. Canderick stood in the center of the room, looking back and forth and back
and forth, like a squirrel which can’t seem to remember where it came from.

“Right in front of you,” Pete replied.

A Door hazed in the middle of the room, but its bluish tint
blended in with the icy room around it.

“Excellent hiding spot,” John said, stepping through it and
disappearing.

“He disappeared! He disappeared!” Mr. Canderick panicked and
began to flail wildly, beating Quin with his small fists. “You’re going to kill
me, I know it!”

Quin blinked, unaffected by the little man’s attempt at
self-defense. He glanced at Pete.

Pete nodded.

Carefully avoiding the feeble attack, Quin picked Mr.
Canderick up by the shoulders and ducked through the Door. Pete followed just
behind.

“Is this what the afterlife looks like?” Mr. Canderick asked
as Quin set him down. He quit flailing and looked around him. “They weren’t
lying—it’s a long tunnel. Where’s the light? Isn’t there supposed to be a light
at the end? They say you should always move towards the light when you’re
dead.”

John shook his head, annoyed. “Come this way, Mr.
Canderick.”

“But why are you all here with me? Oh, I know, I’m sure they
blew up the store we were in. So you all died too. Well, I know you wished me
harm, but you can’t hurt me now. Let’s all move towards the light together.”

“You’re not dead, Mr. Canderick,” interjected Pete. “We’re
taking you to a safe house.”

“Of course, I understand. You’re in denial.” Mr. Canderick
nodded knowingly.

John looked at Quin and rolled his eyes. “Well, Pete’s been
here before, so do you want to lead?”

“Of course,” Pete replied, elbowing his way past Quin,
Canderick, and John.

Constructed during the First Revolution, the Tunnels were a
useful series of Doors built in a manner that allowed one to lose nearly any
type of pursuer. Each Door led to a room which contained a circle of Doors that
spun on an axis. Frequent users knew the pattern for which Door was which, but
even with this knowledge, you could not always predict which Door your prey
would choose. Half of the Doors contained a second roomful of Doors, thereby
making it impossible to place receivers at the gates of every single exit. Some
of the Doors even led to various other planets, and one dropped right off a
cliff.

“Please,” Pete said stepping towards the revolving circle of
Doors. “I’ll go first, and let’s make sure we’ve got a train.”

“Nuisance,” John said, placing his hand on Pete’s shoulder.
“Nowadays.”

“It sure is,” Mr. Canderick agreed. “I thought it would be
easier to find heaven.”

“Not that!” John exclaimed. “Someone messed around with Door
technology. Now each of these Doors leads to three different places. You have
to know where you want to go to actually end up there.”

“Wait, Doors?
You mean, I’m not dead?
I’m travelling through Doors?” His face was a mask of sheer horror. “That’s
illegal! Once the government finds out, I’m going to die anyway! That’s what I
was trying to prevent, living in a box. Take me back!” He started to
hyperventilate. “Take me back to my box!”

Quin chuckled and grabbed Canderick’s shoulder with one
hand, and Pete’s with another. Pete stepped through the Door—it seemed to reach
out and envelop the remaining three people, like a wave crashing over their
heads. The spinning circle dripped slowly away as a single dark tunnel filled
their eyes in its place.

“Certain death,” Mr. Canderick muttered. “I should have
never left home. Never should have graduated college. Never should have joined
the military. Never should have gotten into politics. Never should have been
elected. I hope none of you voted for me.”

“Wait, you were in the military?” John asked.

“I didn’t make it past basic training,” answered Mr.
Canderick. His whole body quivered.

“Just through here,” Pete said, guiding him through the Door
at the end of the tunnel. The darkness blurred and a nicely furnished living
room slid into place. “Welcome to my house. As you can see, there are no
windows in this room. It is quite hidden from the outside world. In addition,
we arrived here by way of the tunnels, so it is highly unlikely that you will
be found.”

A brown suede couch huddled against the far wall, and Quin
gently helped Mr. Canderick sit down.

“Leslie will bring in some coffee in a few minutes,” Pete
said, arranging himself in a folding chair in front of the couch. John paced
back and forth behind him and Quin stood alert with his arms crossed.

“I have a few questions,” John began, “the first being quite
simple: what are you afraid of?”

“Dying,” Mr. Canderick said. He huddled in a tight ball with
his arms crossed in front of his chest and his head sinking into his shoulders
like a turtle.

“Let me be more specific,” John said. “Several days ago
Chair Aderick was murdered. You were third in line to take his position until
the next election, but you declined. Jameson Musk also declined. Why? What do
you know?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I was just scared. Can’t you
leave a poor, elderly man alone?”

“Mr. Canderick,” interjected Pete, “We need your help. If
you want to stay safe, you need to talk.”

“It’s just, well...” Mr. Canderick stuttered. “Aderick died
and they know who I am and I don’t want to die too, so I thought if I hid or
just avoided everything... I thought if they couldn’t see me anymore it would
all be fine. But now you found me and they’re chasing me and I almost got shot
and...
oooh
!” he let out a frightened cry, like an
animal. “I don’t know if my heart can handle this much stress.”

“What’s wrong with your heart?” Quin asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s nothing. Just a genetic
condition—sometimes it starts and stops again and if it stops for too long,
well, you know what happens then.”

“Mr. Canderick,” John said. “
Who
are you afraid of?” He leaned forward, hands on the back of
Pete’s chair.

“Oh, no one, I suppose.” Mr. Canderick leaned back on the
couch, seeming to relax a little bit.

“Why did Aderick die?” John said.

“Oh, that one is easy,” Mr. Canderick replied. “The clock
killed him. The clock always kills people like him. It’s because it was his
job, you see, but the clock—it’s not winking now. It’s scowling. It’s angry. It
won’t kill me, though, but...” he slapped his hand over his mouth and mumbled,
“You can’t make me say anything else. Secrets, these are big, big secrets.
Leave me alone.”

Mr. Canderick pulled his legs up onto the couch, falling
sideways in fetal position. “Ducks and geese,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes
squeezed tightly shut, “ducks and geese.”

John sighed and shook his head.
“The clock
again.”

“What’s happening?” Leslie’s voice sounded from the doorway.
She held a tray with four mugs and a pot of coffee. A plate of cookies also
decorated the welcoming dish.

“Ahhh!”
Mr. Canderick screeched,
leaping out of his fetal position and adopting a fighting-like stance.

Leslie raised her eyebrows. “Should I just, maybe, come back
later?”